


You Jump, I Jump

by orphan_account



Category: Black Widow - Fandom, Clintasha - Fandom, Hawkeye - Fandom, Marvel, The Avengers, Titanic
Genre: Clintasha Feels, F/M, Marvel - Freeform, Titanic - Freeform, free form, it was the heat of the moment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 02:11:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4859177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clintasha Titanic AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"It's been 84 years...It's been 84 days... and I can still smell the fresh paint. The china had never been used. The sheets had never been slept in." Natasha stared ahead, a flood of memories filling her old mind. "Titanic was called the Ship of Dreams. And it was. It really was..."

\---

Crewmen moved across the deck, dwarfed by the awesome scale of the steamer. Southanmpton, England, April 10, 1912. It was almost non on ailing day. A crowd of hundreds blackened the pier next to Titanic like ants on a jelly sandwich. Horse-drawn vehicles, motorcars and lorries moved slowly through the dense throng. The atmosphere was one of excitement and general giddiness. People embraced in tearful farewells, or waved and shout bon voyage wishes to friends and relatives on the decks above.

Coming out of a very pompous car was seventeen year old Natasha, in an elegant purple dress and an enormously large feather hat. She was very much unaffected by what was going on around her at the moment. 

"I don't see what all the fuss is about." She said, gazing up at the ship. 

"You can be blaze about some things, Natalia, but not about Titanic. It's over a hundred feet longer than Mauritania, and far more luxurious. It has squash courts, a Parisian cafe... even Turkish baths." Came a voice from behind her. The voice of her fiancé, Alexei Shostakov, the thirty year old heir to the elder Shostakov's fortune. He was handsome, arrogant and rich beyond meaning. Exiting the car behind them was Natasha's mother, Nelly.  
She was a forty-ish society empress, from one of the most prominent Stalingrad families. She was a widow, and ruled her household with iron will. 

"Your daughter is much too hard to impress, Nelly." Alexei turned to her. 

"So this is the ship they say is unsinkable." She, too, was captured by the enormity of the ship's structure. 

"It is unsinkable," Alexei beamed with pride, "God himself couldn't sink this ship." 

Natasha was about to interject when Alexei got out his pocket watch and looked at it. "We'd better hurry. This way, ladies." And off they went, entering the ship of dreams. 

Apparently, people on the dock at that time were second class and steerage and Natasha's mother wasn't at all amused. 

"Honestly, 'Lexei, if you weren't forever booking everything at the last instant, we could have gone through the terminal instead of running along the dock like some squalid immigrant family." She huffed. 

"All part of my charm, Nelly. At any rate, it was my darling fiancee's beauty rituals which made us late." 

"You told me to change." She defended.

"I couldn't let you wear black on sailing day, sweetpea. It's bad luck."

"I felt like black." She mumbled, choosing to end the conversation. 

 

Outside the Titanic, the steamer's whistle echoed across Southampton. A few yards away from dock, inside a small filled with smoke pub, It was crowded with dockworkers and ship's crew. Just inside, a poker game was in progress. Clinton and Barney Barton, the first about twenty and the latter, twenty-three, exchanged a glance as the other two players argued in Swedish. The Bartons were American, some lanky drifters. The two were also unshaven, and their clothes were rumpled from sleeping in them. Clint was an artist, and had adopted the bohemian style of art scene in Paris. He was also very self-possessed and sure-footed for twenty, having lived with his brother on their own since they were fifteen. 

They could hear the departing whistle. Final warning.  
"The moment of truth boys. Somebody's life's about to change." Clint's words registered into the other three players' ears. Barney put his cards down. So did the Swedes. Clint held his close. 

"Let's see... Barney's got niente. Olaf, you've got squat. Sven, uh oh... two pair... mmm." He turned to his brother. "Sorry, Barney." 

Barney's face fell. "Sorry? What do you have? You lost my money?? You idiot, we're in the-"

"Sorry, you're not gonna drink from here again for a long time..." Clint's lips turned into a huge smile. He slapped a full house down on the table, grinning, "'Cause you're goin' to America! Full house boys!" Barney's eyes widened before he jumped from his chair, cheering loudly. The other two looked a mixture of desperate and angry. Clint raked in the money and the tickets. 

"Sorry boys. Three of a kind and a pair. I'm high and you're dry and.." He put an arm around Barney's shoulder "... we're going to-- AMERICA!" The two shouted at the top of their lungs. 

They too, boarded the ship of dreams just before it closed its doors. 

 

\----- 

Seated around a wide dinner table having fancy champagne were Bruce Ismay, managing director of White Star line, Molly Brown, a rather rich countess, Nelly, Alexei and Natasha. They were discussing something about the designing of Titanic when the waiter arrived to take orders. Natasha lit a cigarette. 

"You know I don't like that, Natalia." Nelly mumbled. 

"She knows." Alexei took the cigarette from her and stubbed it out. Then proceeded to order, "We'll both have the lamb. Rare, with a little mint sauce. You like lamb, don't you sweetpea?" 

Molly was watching the pair with a knowing look so she chose to change the subject. "Hey, who came up with the name Titanic? You, Bruce?"

"Yes, actually. I wanted to convey sheer size. And size means stability, luxury... and safety--"

Natasha interrupted. "Do you know of Dr. Freud? His ideas about the male preoccupation with size might be of particular interest to you, Mr. Ismay." Alexei chocked on his breadstick, suppressing laughter. He quickly changed his face though, "My God, Natalia, what's gotten into--" But Natasha was already gone, muttering a quick "excuse me." 

She entered the room, standing in the middle, staring at her reflection in the large vanity mirror. With a primal, anguished cry she clawed at her throat, ripping off her pearl necklace, which exploded across the room. In a frenzy she tore at herself, her clothes, her hair... then attacked the room. She flung everything off the dresser and it flew clattering against the wall. She hurled a handmirror against the vanity, cracking it.

Natasha ran along the B deck promenade. She was dishevelled, her hair flying. She was crying, her cheeks streaked with tears. But also angry, furious! Shaking with emotions she didn't understand... hatred, self-hatred, desperation. A strolling couple watched her pass, shocked at the emotional display in public.

Clint was kicked back on one of the benches gazing at the stars blazing gloriously overhead. Thinking artist thoughts and smoking a cigarette. Hearing something, he turned as Natasha runs up the stairs from the well deck. They were the only two on the stern deck, except for Rowe, the quartermaster twenty feet above them on the docking bridge catwalk. She didn't see Clint in the shadows, and ran right past him across the deserted fantail. Her breath hitched in an occasional sob, which she suppressed. Natasha slammed against the base of the stern flagpole and clung there, panting. She stared out at the black water. Then she started to climb over the railing. She had to hitch her long dress way up, and climbing was clumsy. Moving methodically, she turned her body and got her heels on the white-painted gunwale, her back to the railing, facing out toward blackness. Sixty feet below her, the massive propellers were churning the Atlantic into white foam, and a ghostly wake trailed off towards the horizon. 

With trembling hands, she leaned out, her arms straightening..looking down hypnotized, into the vortex below her. Her dress and hair were lifted by the wind of the ship's movement. 

"Don't do it." 

Natasha whipped her head around at the sound of his voice. It took a second for her eyes to focus.

"Stay back! Don't come any closer!" She was so tense.

Clint saw the tear tracks on her cheeks in the faint glow from the stern running lights.

He stepped closer. "Take my hand. I'll pull you back in."

She was panicking. "No! Stay where you are. I mean it. I'll let go." 

"No you won't." 

"What do you mean no I won't? Don't presume to tell me what I will and will not do. You don't know me." 

He tilted his head, taking a few steps towards her. "You would have done it already. Now come on, take my hand." 

Natasha was confused now. She couldn't see him very well through the tears, so she wiped them with one hand, almost losing her balance. "You're distracting me. Go away."

"I can't. I'm involved now. If you let go I have to jump in after you." 

She scoffed, "Don't be absurd. You'll be killed." 

He took off his jacket. "I'm a good swimmer." He started unlacing his left shoe. "The fall alone would kill you. It would hurt. I'm not saying it wouldn't. To be honest I'm a lot more concerned about the water being so cold." She looked down, the reality factor of what she was doing sinking in.

"How cold?" She had her eyes fixed on him. 

"Freezing. Maybe a couple degrees over." He started unlacing his right shoe. "like that right down there... it hits you like a thousand knives all over your body. You can't breath, you can't think... least not about anything but the pain..Which is why I'm not looking forward to jumping in after you. But like I said, I don't see a choice. I guess I'm kinda hoping you'll come back over the rail and get me off the hook here." Their eyes locked for a brief moment. 

"You're crazy." Natasha shook her head. 

"That's what everybody says. But with all due respect, I'm not the one hanging off the back of a ship. Come on. You don't want to do this. Give me your hand." She looked at his eyes and they somehow suddenly seemed to fill her universe. 

"All right." She unfastened one hand from the rail and reached it around toward him. He reached out to take it, firmly.

"I'm Clinton Barton."

"Natalia Alianovna Romanova." 

"I'll have to get you to write that down." That caused a loud laugh to reluctantly get out of her lips. "I'd prefer Natasha."

"I'd prefer Clint." 

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Barton." Natasha started to turn. Now that she had decided to live, the height was terrifying. She was overcome by vertigo as she shifted her footing, turning to face the ship. As she started to climb, her dress got in the way, and one foot slipped off the railing. She plunged, letting out a piercing shriek. Clint, gripping her hand, was jerked toward the rail. 

"Help!" She pleaded, barely hearing her own voice. 

"I've got you! I won't let go." He held her with all his strength, pulling her back over the rail. They fell back in a tangled heap, spinning a way in such a way that Clint winded up slightly on top of her. 

The quartermaster Rowe arrived at that exact moment, just in time to see Clint pull off of Natasha, revealing her dishevelled and sobbing on the deck. Her dress was torn, and the hem was pushing up above her knees, showing one ripped stocking. He looked at Clint, the shaggy steerage man with his jacket off, and the first class lady clearly in distress, and started drawing conclusions. Not the best time. Apparently Alexei was looking for Natasha at that time, and he came striding behind Rowe. Alexei also jumped to the same obvious conclusion. 

As soon as he reached them, he grabbed Clint by the lapels. " What made you think you could put your hands on my fiancee?! Look at me, you filth! What did you think you were doing?!" 

Natasha was crying but she knew had to stand up and say something. "'Lexei, stop! It was an accident."

"An accident?!" 

"It was... stupid really. I was leaning over and I slipped." She looked over at Clint, getting eye contact. "I was leaning way over, to see the... ah... propellers. And I slipped and I would have gone overboard... and Mr. Barton here saved me and he almost went over himself." 

"Was that the way of it?" 

Natasha was begging Clint with her eyes not to say what really happened.

"..Uh huh. That was pretty much it." He looked at Natasha a moment longer. Now they had a secret together. 

"Well! The boy's a hero then. Good for you son, well done!" Came Rowe's voice. Alexei turned to Natasha, rubbing her arms, "Let's get you in. You're freezing." And with that, Alexei was leaving without a second thought for Clint. Natasha however, kept thinking of only one pair of eyes for the rest of the night. 

As she undressed for bed Natasha saw Alexei standing in her doorway, reflected in the cracked mirror of her vanity. He came toward her. "I know you've been melancholy, and I don't pretend to know why." His voice was unexpectedly tender. From behind his back he handed her a large black velvet jewel case. She took it, numbly. 

"I intended to save this till the engagement gals next week. But I thought tonight, perhaps a reminder of my feeling for you..."

Natasha slowly opened the box. Inside was the necklace.. It was huge... a malevolent blue stone glittering with an infinity of scalpel-like inner reflections. 

"My God... 'Lexei. Is it a--"

"Diamond. Yes it is. 56 carats." He took the necklace and placed it around her throat. He turned her to the mirror, staring behind her. 

"It was once worn by Louis the Sixteenth." Alexei began. "They call it Le Coeur de la Mer, the--"

"Heart of the Ocean." Natasha breathed. "'Lexei, it's... it's overwhelming."

He gazed at the image of the two of them in the mirror.  
He began again, "It's for royalty. And we are royalty."

His fingers caressed her neck and throat. He seemed himself to be disarmed by Natasha's elegance and beauty. His emotion was, for the first time, unguarded.

"There's nothing I couldn't give you. There's nothing I'd deny you if you would deny me. Open your heart to me, Natalia."


	2. Chapter 2

It was Saturday April 13, 1912. Natasha unlatched the gate to go down into third class. The steerage men on the deck stopped what they're doing and stared at her, as she was in a very fancy dress, walking with purpose. The social center of steerage life. It was stark by comparison to the opulence of first class, but was a loud, boisterous place. There were mothers with babies, kids running between the benches, yelling in several languages and being scolded in several more. There were old women yelling, men playing chess, girls doing needlepoint and reading dime novels. 

Barney was caught up in a conversation with a Norwegian girl trying to get a few English words out of her. His eye was caught by something. Clint, curious, followed his gaze to see... Natasha, coming toward them. The activity in the room stopped, a hush fell. Natasha felt suddenly self-conscious as the steerage passengers stared openly at this princess, some with resentment, others with awe. She spotted Clint and gave a little smile, walking straight to him. He rose to meet her, smiling.

"Hello Clint." Barney and Helga, the Norwegian girl were floored. It was like the slipper fitting Cinderella. 

"Hello again." He was just as surprised. 

"Could I speak to you in private?"

"Uh, yes. Of course. After you." He motioned her ahead and followed. Clint glanced over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised, as he walked out with her leaving a stunned silence. 

Natasha and Clint walked side by side. They passed people reading and talking in steamer chairs, some of whom glanced curiously at the mismatched couple. He felt out of place in his rough clothes. They were both awkward, for different reasons.

"Mr. Barton, I--"

"Clint." He nodded. 

"Clint... I feel like such an idiot. It took me all morning to get up the nerve to face you." He could tell she was really nervous. 

"Well, here you are."

"Here I am. I... I want to thank you for what you did. Not just for... for pulling me back. But for your discretion." She spoke quietly. 

"You're welcome. Natasha." He was about to think of something to say but she went on. 

"Look, I know what you must be thinking! Poor little rich girl. What does she know about misery?" 

"That's not what I was thinking. What I was thinking was... what could have happened to hurt this girl so much she thought she had no way out."

She had no idea how she was being this honest with a stranger. "I don't... it wasn't just one thing. It was everything. It was them, it was everything. It was them, it was their whole world. And I was trapped in it, like an insect in amber." She talked quickly now. "I just had to get away... just run and run and run... and then I was at the back rail and there was no more ship... even the Titanic wasn't big enough. Not enough to get away from them. And before I'd really though about it, I was over the rail. I was so furious. I'll show them. They'll be sorry!" Her chest was riding and falling so fast. 

"Uh huh. They'll be sorry." He watched her. "'Course you'll be dead." 

She lowered her head, "Oh God, I am such an utter fool."

Clint bit his lip, "The penguin last night, is he one of them?"

"Penguin? Oh, Alexei! He is them." 

"Is he your boyfriend?"

"Worse, I'm afraid." She showed him her engagement ring. A sizable diamond. He whistled, "God look at that thing! You would have gone straight to the bottom." They laughed together. 

A passing steward scowled at Clint, who was clearly not a first class passenger, but Natasha just glared at him away.

"So you feel like you're stuck on a train you can't get off 'cause you're marryin' this fella."

Natasha nodded, "Yes, exactly!"

"So don't marry him." He shrugged as suggesting that a thirsty person should just go ahead and drink.

"If only it were that simple." Natasha shook her head. 

"It is that simple." He was still confused. 

"Oh, Clint... please don't judge me until you've seen my world." 

He didn't say anything and she looked away. Looking for another topic, any other topic, she indicated his sketchbook. "What's this?" 

"Just some sketches."

"May I?" The question of course was rhetorical because she had already grabbed the book. She sat on a deck chair and opened the sketchbook. Each one an expressive little bit of humanity: an old woman's hands, a sleeping man, a father and daughter at the rail. The faces were luminous and alive. His book was a celebration of the human condition. 

"Clint, these are quite good! Really, they are." 

"Well, they didn't think much of them in Paree." 

"Well, they should have." She muttered, trailing off. She had come upon a series of nudes. Natasha was transfixed by the languid beauty he had created. His nudes were soulful, real, with expressive hands and eyes. They felt more like portraits than studies of the human form... almost uncomfortably intimate. 

Natasha blushed, raising the book as some strollers went by. 

She tried to be very adult, suppressing what she felt at the moment, "And these were drawn from life?"

"Yup. That's one of the great things about Paris. Lots of girls willing take their clothes off."

She studied one drawing in particular, the girl posed half in sunlight, half in shadow. Her hands laid at her chin, one furled and one open like a flower, languid and graceful. The drawing was like an Alfred Steiglitz print of Georgia O'Keefe.

"You liked this woman. You used her several times."

"She had beautiful hands." He said quickly and Natasha smiled. "I think you must have had a love affair with her..." 

That caused him to laugh, "No, no! Just with her hands."  
The laughter died down a bit. Then she looked up from the drawings. "You have a gift, Clint. You do. You see people." 

"I see you. There it is. That piercing gaze again." 

"And...?" She held her breath.

"You wouldn't have jumped." 

\-- 

Natasha and Clint strolled aft, past people lounging on deck chairs in the slanting late-afternoon light. Stewards scurried to serve tea or hot cocoa. Natasha was radiating. She spoke in a girly, excited voice, something she's never done before. "You know, my dream has always been to just chuck it all and become an artist... living in a garret, poor but free!" They both laughed. 

"You wouldn't last two days. There's no hot water, and hardly ever any caviar." 

She was angry in a flash. "Listen, buster... I hate caviar! And I'm tired of people dismissing my dreams with a chuckle and a pat on the head." 

He tilted his head to the side, "I'm sorry. Really... I am."  
She shook it off though, "Well, alright. There's something in me, Clint. I feel it. I don't know what it is, whether I should be an artist, or, I don't know... a dancer. Like Isadora Duncan.... a wild pagan spirit..." She leaped forward, landing deftly and whirling like a dervish. He couldn't take his eyes off of her. She stared up at the sky and her face lit up, "...or a moving picture actress!"

She took his hand and ran, pulling him along the deck until they reached A-deck rail aft, leaning on it, shoulder to shoulder. The ship's lights came on. It was a magical moment.. perfect. 

"So then what, Mr. Clint? Tell me the rest."

"Well, then logging got to be too much like work, so Barney and I went down to Los Angeles to the pier in Santa Monica. That's a swell place, they even have a rollercoaster. I sketched portraits there for ten cents a piece." 

"A whole ten cents?!" She was mocking now, but he didn't seem to get it. 

"Yeah; it was great money... I could make a dollar a day, sometimes. But only in summer. When it got cold, we decided to go to Paris and see what the real artists were doing."

Natasha looked up at the dusk sky. "Why can't I be like you Clint? Just head out for the horizon whenever I feel like it." She turned to him. "Say we'll go there, sometime... to that pier... even if we only ever just talk about it." 

"All right, we're going. We'll drink cheap beer and go on the rollercoaster until we throw up and we'll ride horses on the beach... right in the surf... but you have to ride like a cowboy, none of that side-saddle stuff." Clint smiled. 

"You mean one leg on each side? Scandalous! Can you show me?" She marveled. 

"Sure. If you like." He said, looking directly at her. She smiled, "I think I would."

Suddenly Natasha's face changed and Clint turned around to see her mum Nelly and Molly approach them. Nelly looked at Clint like he was an insect that needed to be squashed quickly. The two stood up, greeting the approaching women. 

After some small talk inquiring where Natasha had been, Nelly returned to Clint. "Tell us of the accommodations in steerage, Mr. Barton. I hear they're quite good on this ship." 

"The best I've seen, ma'am. Hardly any rats." He smiled confidently, but not arrogantly. Molly smiled like a proud mother although she hasn't at all seen the young man before. 

"And where exactly do you live, Mr. Barton?" Molly decided to jump in.

Natasha's stomach was doing flips now, she didn't understand how he managed to look her mother in the eye for more than five seconds. He may have been nervous, she thought, but he never faltered. "Well, right now my address is the RMS Titanic. After that, I'm on God's good humor." 

Nelly interjected, "You find that sort of rootless existence appealing, do you?" 

"Well... it's a big world, and I want to see it all before I go. You can't wait around, because you never know what hand you're going to get dealt next. See, my folks died in a fire when I was fifteen, leaving only my brother and me, and we've been on the road since. Somethin' like that teaches you to take life as it comes at you. To make each day count." He shrugged at the end to make it sound like it was simple enough to have lived this but he knew it wasn't. Nonetheless, Molly grinned, "Well said, Clint." Nelly didn't even try to hide her glare. 

Natasha, sensing the tension, cleared her throat. "Shall we go dress, mother? It's almost dinner time." 

Nelly seemed to sigh out loud and realised Natasha was right. She smiled tightly at Clint before turning and walking away with Molly. Natasha was about to go too when Clint called her. He took a few steps closer and took her hand, kissing it. Natasha's mouth opened just a tad but she was grinning. He smiled and walked away. She felt something crunchy in her hand and superstitiously opened it to reveal a note. It read: "Make it count. Meet me at the clock after dinner." 

She smiled lightly and took a deep breath, "O Mr. Barton." 

\-- 

Natasha crossed the A-Deck foyer, sighting Clint at the landing above. Overhead was the crystal dome. He had his back to her, studying the ornate clock with its carved figures of Honor and Glory. It stroked the hour softly. He turned, saw her and smiled. 

Her low cut dress showing off her neck and shoulders, her arms sheathed in white gloves that come well above the elbow. Clint was hypnotized by her beauty.

"Want to go to a real party?" He raised an eyebrow. 

"Dinner was extremely dull, so yes." 

\--

Inside the third class general room, an ad hoc band was gathered near the upright piano, honking out lively stomping music on fiddle, accoridon and tambourine. People of all ages were dancing, drinking beer and wine, smoking, laughing, even brawling. Someone named Tommy handed Natasha a pint of stout and she hoisted it. Clint meanwhile danced with five year old Cora Cartmell, or tried to, with her standing on his feet. As the tune ended, Natasha leaned down to the little girl. "May I cut in, miss?" 

"You're still my best girl, Cora." Clint called out as he watched Cora scamper off. Then Clint and Natasha faced each other. She was trembling as he took her right hand in his left. His other hand slid to the small of her back. It was an electrifying moment. 

"I don't know the steps." Natasha blushed. 

"Just move with me. Don't think."

The music started and they were off. A little awkward at first, she started to get into it. She grinned at Clint as she started to get the rhythm of the steps. 

"Wait... stop!" She bent down, pulling off her high heeled shoes, and flung them to Tommy. Then she grabbed Clint and they plunged back into the fray, dancing faster as the music sped up. The scene was rowdy and rollicking. Natasha dancing with Clint in her stocking feet. The steps were fast and she shone with sweat. A space opened around them, and people watched them, clapping as the band played faster and faster. The tune ended in a mad rush. Clint stepped away from Rose with a flourish, allowing her to take a bow. Exhilarated and slightly tipsy, she did a graceful ballet ployer, feet turned out perfectly. Everyone laughed and applauded. Natasha was hit with the steerage folks, who'd never had a lady party with them. They moved to a table, flushed and sweaty. 

Tommy walked up with a pint for each of them. Natasha chugged hers, showing off. 

"You think a first class girl can't drink?" She raised an eyebrow.

Everybody else was dancing again, then someone crashed into Tommy, who sloshed his beer over Natasha's dress. She laughed, not caring. But Tommy lunged, grabbing the man and wheeling him around. 

"You stupid bastard!" He cursed. The man came around, his fists coming up and Clint leapt into the middle of it, pushing them apart. 

"Boys, boys! Did I ever tell you the one about the Swede and the Irishman goin' to the whorehouse?"

Tommy stood there, all chest puffed up. Then he grinned and clapped the man on the shoulder. 

"So, you think you're big tough men?" Natasha put her hands on her hips. "Let's see you do this." 

In her stocking feet she assumed a ballet stance, arms raised, and went up on point, taking her entire weight on the tips of her toes. The guys gaped at her incredible muscle control. She came back down, then her face screwed up in pain. She grabbed one foot, hopping around. 

"Owwww! I haven't done that in years." Clint caught her as she lost her balance, and everyone cracked up. 

The door to the well deck was open a few inches as Krushnik, Alexei's personal assistant watched through the gap. He saw Clint holding Natasha, both laughing in each other's arms, then closed the door.


	3. Chapter 3

April 14, 1912. A bright clear day. Sunlight splashing across the promenade. Natasha and Alexei were having breakfast in silence. The tension was palpable. The two watched as the maid poured the coffee and went inside. 

"I had hoped you would come to me last night." Alexei started. 

"I was tired." She sipped her coffee.

"Yes." She hated how he spoke. "Your exertions below decks were no doubt exhausting." 

She stiffened, her cup of coffee trembling. "I see you had that undertaker of a manservant follow me."

"You will never behave like that again! Do you understand?" His voice was a warning. 

"I'm not some foreman in your mills than you can command! I am your fiancee--"

Alexei exploded, sweeping the breakfast china off the table with a crash. He moved to her in one shocking moment, glowering over her and gripping the sides of her chair, so she was trapped between his arms. "Yes! You are! And my wife... in practice, if not yet by law. So you will honor me, as a wife is required to honor her husband! I will not be made out a fool! Is this in any way unclear?"

Natasha shrunk into the chair, she was suffocating. Her eyes landed on the maid, Trudy, frozen, partway through the door bringing the orange juice. Alexei followed Natasha's glance and straightened up. He stalked past the maid, entering the stateroom. 

"We... had a little accident. I'm s-sorry, Trudy." Natasha managed, her breath trembling. 

Apparently, Natasha's day wasn't any better because it seemed that Nelly had also heard what happened last night in the third class general room. 

"You are not to see that boy again, do you understand me, Natalia? I forbid it!" Nelly's rage was obvious as she tightened the corset around Natasha's slender waist. 

"Oh, stop it, Mother. You'll give yourself a nosebleed." 

Nelly pulled away from her, and crossed to the door, locking it. "Natalia, this is not a game! Our situation is precarious. You know the money's gone!"

Natasha had to roll her eyes. "Of course I know it's gone. You remind me every day!"

"Your father left us nothing but a legacy of bad debts hidden by a good name. And that name is the only card we have to play." 

When Natasha didn't speak, fixing her mother's corset, she began again, her voice judging. "I don't understand you. It is a fine match with Shostakov, and it will insure our survival."

Natasha looked hurt and lost. "How can you put this on my shoulders?" She turned to her, and saw the naked fear in her mother's eyes.

"Do you want to see me working as a seamstress? Is that what you want? Do you want to see our fine things sold at an auction, our memories scattered to the winds? My God, Natalia, how can you be so selfish?" 

"It's so unfair." She glared. 

"Of course it's unfair! We're women. Our choices are never easy." 

Natasha pulled the corset tighter.

\--

At the divine service, Captain Smith was leading a group in the hymn "Almighty Father Strong To Save." Natasha and Nelly sang in the middle of the group. Krushnik stood well back, keeping an eye on Natasha. He noticed a commotion at the entry doors. Clint had been halted there by two stewards. He was dressed in his third class clothes, and stood there, hat in hand, looking out of place. 

He arrived just in time to hear Clint say this, "I was just here last night... don't you remember? He'll tell you." Clint noticed Krushnik. 

"Mr. Shostakov and Mrs. Romanova continue to be most appreciative of your assistance. They asked me to give you this in gratitude--" He held out two twenty dollar bills, which Clint refused to take. "I don't want money, I--"

"--and also to remind you that you hold a third class ticket and your presence here is no longer appropriate." 

Clint spotted Natasha but she didn't see him. "I just need to talk to Natasha for a--" 

Krushnik's face held a look of pure disgust as he heard her name not being pronounced the right away. "Gentlemen, please see that Mr. Barton gets back where he belongs." He gave them a twenty dollar bill. "And that he stays there." 

"Yes sir! Come along you."

\--

Several hours later on C deck Clint, walking with determination, was followed closely by Tommy and Barney. He quickly climbed the steps to B-Deck and stepped over the gate separating 3rd from 2nd class. 

"She's a goddess amongst mortal men, there's no denyin'. But she's in another world, Francis, forget her. She's closed the door." Barney crossed his arms over his chest, Clint groaned because of the public use of his middle name. He moved furtively to the wall below the A-Dec to the wall promenade, aft.

"It was them, not her." He defended, glancing around the deck. "Ready... go." Tommy shook his head resignedly and put his hands together, crouching down. Clint stepped into Tommy's hands and got boosted up to the next deck, where he scrambled nimbly over the railing, onto the First Class deck. 

"He's not bein' logical," Barney sighed. Tommy smiled, "Amore is not logical." 

Walking on A-Deck a man was playing with his son, who was spinning a top with a string. The man's overcoat and hat were sitting on a deck chair nearby. Clint emerged from behind one of the huge deck cranes and calmly picked up the coat and bowler hat. He walked away, slipping into the coat, and slicked his hair back with spit. Then put the hat on his head. From a distance, he could pass as a gentleman. 

At the same time, Mr. Stark, the designer of the glorious Titanic led the group back from the bridge along the boat deck. 

"Mr. Stark, I did the sum in my head, and with the number of lifeboats times the capacity you mentioned... forgive me, but it seems that there are not enough for everyone aboard." Natasha thought out loud. 

"About half, actually. Natalia, you miss nothing, do you? In fact, I put in these new type davits, which can take an extra row of boats here." He satired the deck. "But it was thought... by some... that the deck would look too cluttered. So I was over-ruled." He smiled sheepishly.

"Waste of deck space as it is, on an unsinkable ship!" Alexei said, slapping the side of a boat. 

Stark chuckled. "Sleep soundly, young Natalia. I have built you a good ship, strong and true. She's all the lifeboat you need."

As they were passing Boat 7, a gentlemen turned from the rail and walked up behind the group. It was Clint. He tapped Natasha on the arm and she turned, gasping. He motioned and she cut away from the group toward a door which Clint held open. They ducked into the gymnasium. Clint closed the door behind her, and glanced out through the ripple-glass window to the starboard rail, where the gym instructor was chatting up the woman who was riding the bike. Natasha and Clint were alone in the room. 

"Clint, this is impossible. I can't see you."

He took her by the shoulders. "Natasha, you're no picnic... you're a spoiled little brat even, but under that you're a strong, pure heart, and you're the most amazingly astounding girl I've ever known and--"

She was astonished. "Clint, I--"

"No wait. Let me try to get this out. You're amazing... and I know I have nothing to offer you, Tasha. I know that. But I'm involved now. You jump, I jump, remember? I can't turn away without knowin' that you're goin' to be alright."

Natasha felt the tears coming to her eyes. Clint was so open and real... not like anyone she has ever known. 

"You're making this very hard. I'll be fine. Really." She tried to look away but couldn't. His eyes were so captivating. 

"I don't think so. They've got you in a glass jar like some butterfly, and you're goin' to die if you don't break out. Maybe not right away, 'cause you're strong. But sooner or later the fire in you is goin' to go out."

Natasha let out a sudden whine. "It's not up to you to save me, Clint." 

"You're right. Only you can do that." He breathed slowly, quietly, giving her all the time she needed. 

"I have to get back, they'll miss me. Please, Clint, for both our sakes, leave me alone."

\-- 

The First Class lounge. The most elegant room on the ship, done in Louis Quinze Versaille style. Natasha sat on a divan, with a group of other women arrayed around her. Nelly, the Countess Rothes and Lady Duff-Gordon were taking tea. Natasha was silent and still as a porcelain figurine as the conversation washed around her. 

"Of course the invitations had to be sent back to the printers twice. And the bridesmaids dresses! Let me tell you what an odyssey that has been..." Nelly went on and Natasha laid her head back on the chair, the American boy's words' echoing in her brain. She calmly and deliberately turned her teacup over, spilling tea all over her dress. "Oh, look what I've done."

\--

 

Titanic steamed in the dusk light, as if lit by the embers of a giant fire. Standing on the bow of the ship, Clint was there, right at the apex of the bow railing, his favorite spot. He closed his eyes, letting the chill wind clear his head. He heard her voice, behind him. 

"Hello, Clint.." He turned and she was standing there. "I changed my mind."

He smiled at her, his eyes drinking her in. Her cheeks were red with the chill wind, and her eyes sparkled. Her hair blew wildly about her face. 

"Barney said you might be up--"  
"Sssshh. Come here. He put his hands on her waist as if he was going to kiss her. 

"Close your eyes." He whispered. She did, and he turned her to face forward, the way the ship was going. He pressed her gently to the rail, standing right behind her. Then he took her two hands and raised them until she was standing with her arms outstetched on each side. Natasha was going along with him. When he lowered his hands, her her arms stayed up... like wings. 

Clint breathed, "Okay. Open them." Natasha gasped. There was nothing in her field of vision but water. It was like there was no ship under them at all, just the two of them soaring. The Atlantic unrolled toward her, a hammered copper shield under a dusk sky. There was only the wind, and the hiss of the water fifty feet below.

"I'm flying!" She leaned forward, arching her back. He put his hands on her waist to steady her. 

"Come Josephine in my flying machine..." He started singing softly. 

Natasha closed her eyes, feeling herself floating weightless far above the sea. She smiled dreamily, then leaned back, gently pressing her back against his chest. He pushed forward slightly against her. Slowly he raised his hands, arms outstretched, and they met hers... fingertips gently touching. Then their fingers intertwined. Moving slowly, their fingers caressed through and around each other like the bodies of two lovers. Clint tipped his face forward into her blowing hair, letting the scent of her wash over him, until his cheek was against her ear. Natasha turned her head until her lips were near his. She lowered her arms, turning further, until she found his mouth with hers. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, and they kissed like that with her head turned and tilted back, surrendering to him, to the emotion, to the inevitable. They kissed, slowly and tremulously, and then with building passion. Clint and the ship seemed to merge into one force of power and optimism, lifting her, buoying her forward on a magical journey, soaring onward into a night without fear.

That was the last time Titanic ever saw daylight. 

\--

 

Natasha's suite. Like in a dream the beautiful woodwork and satin upholstery emerged from the rusted ruin. Clint was overwhelmed by the opulence of the room. He set his sketchbook and drawing materials on the marble table.

"Will this light do? Don't artists need good light?"

Clint shrugged and proceeded to talk in the worst possible French accent. "Zat is true, I am not used to working in such 'orreeble conditions." Then his eyes laid on the paintings in the room. "Hey... Monet!" He crouched next to the paintings stacked against the wall. "Isn't he great... the use of color? I saw him once... through a hole in this garden fence in Giverny." 

She went into the adjoining walk-in wardrobe closet. He saw her go to the safe and started working the combination. He was fascinated. 

"'Lexei insists on luggin this thing everywhere." She huffed. 

"Should I be expecting him anytime soon?" 

"Not as long as the cigars and brandy hold out." She unlocked the safe. Glancing up, she met his eyes in the mirror behind the safe. She opened it and removed the necklace, then held it out to Clint who took it nervously. 

"What is it? A sapphire?"

"A diamond. A very rare diamond, called the Heart of the Ocean." Clint gazed at wealth beyond his comprehension. 

"I want you to draw me like one of your French girls. Wearing this." She smiled. "Wearing only this." He looked up at her, surprised but nodded nonetheless. 

Clint was laying out his pencils like surgical tools, watching as Natasha drew the jade butterfly comb of her hair. She shook her head and her hair fell free around her shoulders. His sketchbook was open and ready. Clint looked up as she came into the room, wearing a silk kimono. 

"The last thing I need is another picture of me looking like a china doll. As a paying customer, I expect to get what I want." She handed him a dime and stepped back, parting the kimono. 

The blue stone laid on her creamy breast. Her heart was pounding as she slowly lowered the robe. Clint looked so stricken, it was almost comical. The kimono dropped to the floor. 

"Tell me when it looks right to you." She eyed him, posing on the divan, settling like a cat. 

"Uh... just bend your left leg a little and... and lower your head. Eyes to me. That's it." He started to sketch. He accidentally dropped his pencil and she stifled a a laugh.

"I believe you are blushing, Mr. Big Artiste. I can't imagine Monsieur Monet blushing." 

Clint wasn't blushing, he was damn sure he was sweating. "He does landscapes." He looked up, his eyes came up to look at her over the top edge of his sketchpad. It was an image she would carry the rest of her life. Despite his nervousness, he drew with sure strokes, and what emerged was the best thing he had ever done. Her pose was languid, her hands beautiful, and her eyes radiated her energy. 

A couple of minutes later, Clint was signing the drawing. Natasha, wearing her kimono again, was leaning on his shoulder, watching. Natasha gazed at the drawing. He had X-rayed her soul.

"Date it, Clint. I want to always remember this night."

He did: 4/14/1912. Natasha meanwhile scribbled a note on a piece of Titanic stationary. She accepted the drawing from him, and crossed to the safe in the wardrobe. She put the diamond back in the safe, placing the drawing and and the note on top of it, and closed the door. 

Natasha, fully dressed now, returned to the sitting room. They heard a key in the lock so Natasha took Clint's hand and led him silently through the bedrooms. Krushnik entered by the sitting room door.

"Miss Natalia? Hello?" He heard a door opening and went through Alexei's room toward hers. Natasha and Clint came out of her stateroom, closing the door. She led him quickly along the corridor toward the B deck foyer. They were halfway across the open space when the sitting room door opened in the corridor and Krushnik came out. The valet saw Clint with Natasha and hustled after them. 

"Come on!" She and Clint broke into a run, surprising the few ladies and gentlemen about. Natasha led him past the stairs to the bank of elevators. They ran into one, shocking the hell out of the operator. 

"Take us down. Quickly, quickly!" The Operator scrambled to comply. Clint even helped him close the steel gate. Krushnik ran up as the lift started to descend. He slammed one hand on the bars of the gate. Natasha made a very rude and unladylike gesture, the middle finger and laughed as Krushnik disappeared above. The Operator gaped at her. 

On E deck, Krushnik emerged from another lift and ran to the one Clint and Natasha were in. The Operator was just closing the gate to go back up. Krushnik ran around the bank of elevators and scanned the foyer... no Clint and Natasha. He tried the stairs going down to F-Deck. 

The two managed to get to the fan room, a functional space, with access to a number of machine spaces (fan rooms, boiler uptakes). Clint and Natasha leaned against a wall, laughing. 

"Pretty tough for a valet, this fella." He tried to take his breath. 

"He's an ex-Pinkerton." Natasha explained. "Alexei's father hired him to keep 'Lexei out of trouble... to make sure he always got back to the hotel with his wallet and watch, after some crawl through the less reputable parts of town..."

"Kinda like we're doin' right now-- uh oh!"

Krushnik had spotted them from a cross-corridor nearby. He charged toward them. Natasha and Clint ran around a corner into a blind alley. There was one door, marked CREW ONLY, and Clint flung it open. They entered a roaring room, with no way out but a ladder going down. Clint latched the deadbolt on the door, and Krushnik slammed against it a moment later. 

Clint grinned at Natasha, pointing to the ladder. 

"After you, m'lady." They entered the boiler room, coming down the escape ladder and looked around in amazement. It was like a vision of hell itself, with the roaring furnaces and black figures moving in the smoky glow. They ran the length of the boiler room, dodging amazed stokers, and trimmers with their wheelbarrows of coal. Clint pulled her through the fiercely hot alley between two boilers and they winded up in the dark, out of sight of the working crew. Watching from the shadows, they saw the stokers working in the hellish glow, shovelling coal into the insatiable maws of the furnaces. The whole place thundered with the roar of the fires. Inside the boiler room, the furnaces roared, silhouetting the glistening stokers. Clint kissed Natasha's face, tasting the sweat trickling down from her forehead. They kiss passionately in the steamy, pounding darkness. 

The two entered and ran laughing between the rows of stacked cargo. She hugged herself against the cold, after the dripping heat of the boiler room. They came upon William Carter's brand new Renault touring car, lashing down to a pallet. It looked like a royal coach from a fairy tale, its brass trim and headlamps nicely set off by its deep burgundy color. Natasha climbed into the plushly upholstered back seat, acting very royal. There were cut crystals bud vases on the walls back there, each containing a rose. Clint jumped into the driver's seat, enjoying the feel of the leather and wood.

"Where to, Miss?" He asked, grinning. 

"To the stars." She stared longingly at him and her hands came out of the shadows, pulling him over the seat into the back. He landed next to her, and his breath seemed loud in the quiet darkness. He looked at her and she was smiling. It was the moment of truth. 

"Are you nervous?" He hoped the feeling was mutual.

"Au contraire, mon cher." He stroked her face, cherishing her and she kissed his artist's fingers. "Put your hands on me, Clint." He kissed her again, and she slid down in the seat under his welcome weight. Natasha's hand came up and slammed against the glass for a moment, making a handprint in the veil of condensation. Inside the car, Clint's overcoat was like a blanket over them. It stirred and Natasha pulled it down. They were huddled under it, intertwined, still mostly clothed. Their faces were flushed and they looked at each other wonderingly. She put her hand on his face, as if making sure he was real. 

"You're trembling." The tips of her fingers danced on his cheeks. 

"It's okay. I'm all  
right." He laid his cheek against her chest, closing his eyes.

"I can feel your heart beating." She hugged his head to her chest, and just held on for dear life. 

He had such fine hands, artists' hands, but strong too.. roughened by work. Natasha remembered their touch forever.

\--

Natasha and Clint, fully dressed, came through a crew door onto the deck. They could barely stand after a magical love making, they were laughing so hard. Up above them in the crow's nest, lookout Fleet heard the disturbance below and looked around and backed down to the well deck, where he could see two figures embracing. Clint and Natasha stood in each others arms. Their breath clouded around them in the now freezing air, but they didn't even feel the cold.

"When this ship docks, I'm getting off with you." She blurted out. 

"This is crazy." 

"I know. It doesn't make any sense. That's why I trust it." She smiled like a ten year old receiving their favourite Christmas present. Clint pulled her to him and kissed her fiercely. 

In the crow's nest, Fleet watched the two, muttering. "They're a bloody sight warmer than we are." He nudged his look out partner. 

"Well if that's what it takes for us two to get warm, I'd rather not, if it's all the same." They both had a good laugh at that one. It was Fleet whose expression fell first. Glancing forward again, he did a double take. The color was drained out of his face. A massive iceberg right in their path, 500 yards out. 

"Bugger me!!" Fleet reached past Lee and rung the lookout bell three times, then grabbed the telephone, calling the bridge.

Then came the explosion of orders. 

"Shut all dampers! Shut 'em!!"

"Full speed!" 

"Reverse!!"

"Pick up the telephone you bastards!" 

From the bridge, Stark watched the burg growing... straight ahead. The bow finally started to come left (since the ship turned the reverse of the helm setting). Stark's jaw clenched as the bow turned with agonizing slowness. He held his breath as the horrible physics played their part. The bow of the ship thundered the ship hit the berg on its starboard bow. Underwater, the ice was smashing in the steel hull plates. The iceberg bumped and scraped along the side of the ship. Rivets popped as the steel plate of the hull flexed under the load. Like a sledgehammer bearing outside the ship, the berg spilt the hull plates and sea poured in, sweeping some people off their feet. The icy water swirled around the Renault as the men scrambled for the stairs. On G-Deck, Barney was tossed in his bunk by the impact. He heard a sound like the greatly amplified squeal of a skate on ice. 

On the forward well deck, Clint and Natasha broke their kiss and looked up in astonishment as the berg sailed past, blocking out the sky like a mountain. Fragments broke off it and crashed down onto the deck, and they had to jump back to avoid flying chunks of ice. On the bridge, Stark rung the watertight door alarm. He quicky threw the switch that closed them. 

"Hard a 'port!" Stark exclaimed. Judging the berg to be amidships, he was trying to clear the stern. The alarm bells still clattered mindlessly, seeming to reflect his inner state. He was in shock, unable to get a grip on what just happened. Tony Stark just ran the biggest ship in history into an iceberg on its maiden voyage.

-

Tommy got out of his top bunk in the dark and dropped down to the floor. He heard a splash.

"What in hell--?!" He napped on the light. The floor was covered with three inches of freezing water, and more coming in. He pulled the door open, and stepped out into the corridor, which was flooded. Barney was running toward him, yelling something. Tommy and Barney started pounding on doors, getting everybody up and out. The alarm spread in several languages. 

In the First Class corridor, a couple of people have come out into the corridor in robes and slippers. A steward hurried along, reassuring them.

Back on the well deck, Clint and Natasha were leaning over the starboard rail, looking at the hull of the ship. 

Clint shrugged, "Looks okay. I don't see anything." 

"Could it have damaged the ship?" Natasha tilted her head to the side.

"It didn't seem like much of a bump. I'm sure we're okay." 

Behind them a couple of steerage guys were kicking the ice around the deck, laughing. 

Natasha and Clint came up the steps from the well deck, which were right next to the three men. They stared as the couple climbs over the locked gate. A moment later Captain Smith rounded the corner, followed by Stark and a Carpenter, Hutchinson. They had come down from the bridge by the outside stairs. The three men, their faces grim, rushed right past Natasha and Clint. Stark barely glanced at her.

"Can you shore up?" Smith inquired.

"Not unless the pumps get ahead."

The inspection party went down the stairs to the well deck.

Clint turned to Natasha, his voice low. "It's bad."

"We have to tell Mother and 'Lexei."

He raised a brow. "Now it's worse." 

"Come with me, Clint. I jump, you jump... Right?"

"Right." Clint followed Natasha through the door inside the ship. 

There was some heavy silence as Natasha and Clint entered. Nelly closed her robe at her throat when she saw Clint.

"Something serious has happened." Natasha was about to continue. 

"That's right." Alexei spoke calmly. Two things dear to me have disappeared this evening. Now that one is back..." He looked from Natasha to Clint ".. I have a pretty good idea where to find the other. Search him."

The Master at Arms stepped up to Clint. "Coat off, mate." Krushnik pulled at Clint's coat and Clint shook his head in dismay, shrugging out of it. The Master at Arms patted him down. 

"This is horseshit." He glared and Natasha joined him. "'Lexei, you can't be serious! We're in the middle of an emergency and you--"

Suddenly the Heart of the Ocean was pulled out of the pocket of Clint's coat. Natasha was stunned. Needless to say, so was Clint. He was astonished, never having any thought about the necklace before. 

"That's it. Right then. Now don't make a fuss." He started to handcuff Clint. 

"Don't you believe it, Natasha. Don't!" 

Natasha now looked uncertain. "He couldn't have.."

"Of course he could. Easy enough for a professional. He memorized the combination when you opened the safe." 

"B-But I was with him the whole time."

Then Alexei lowered his cold voice, speaking only to her. "Maybe he did it while you were putting your clothes back on." 

Clint's eyes widened. "They put it in my pocket!"

Krushnik saw the opportunity and snatched. He held Clint's coat and read. "It's not even your pocket, son. 'Property of A. L. Ryerson.'" Krushnik showed the coat to the Master at Arms. There was a label inside the collar with the owner's name. The Master at Arms scowled. "That was reported stolen today. "  
"I was going to return it! Tasha--" Clint gritted his teeth as the nickname slipped out and Nelly looked like she was going to explode. Natasha felt utterly betrayed, hurt and confused. She shrunk away from him. He started shouting to her as Krushnik and the Master at Arms dragged him out into the hall. She couldn't look him in the eye. 

"Natasha, don't listen to them... I didn't do this! You know I didn't! You know it!" She was devastated. Her mother laid a comforting hand on her shoulder as the tears welled up.

"Why do women believe men?" Nelly sighed. 

 

\--

From inside the sitting room they could hear knocking and voices in the corridor. 

"I had better go dress." Nelly exited and Alexei crossed to Natasha. He regarded her coldly for a moment, then slapped her across the face.

"It is a little slut, isn't it?" To Natasha, the blow was inconsequential compared to the blow her heart had been given. Alexei grabbed her shoulders roughly. "Look at me, you little--"

There was a loud knock on the door and an urgent voice. The door opened and their steward put his head in. 

"Sir, I've been told to ask you to please put on your lifebelt, and come up to the boat deck."

"Get out. We're busy."

The steward persisted, coming in to get the lifebelts down from the top of a dresser.

"I'm sorry about the inconvenience, Mr. Shostakov, but it's Captain's orders. Please dress warmly, it's quite cold tonight. Not to worry, miss, I'm sure it's just a precaution."

Alexei scoffed, "This is ridiculous." 

In the corridor outside the stewards were being so polite and obsequious they were conveying no sense of danger whatsoever. On the A-Deck Foyer, a large number of First Class passengers had gathered near the staircase. They were getting indignant about the confusion. The jumpy piano rhythm of "Alexander's Ragtime Band" came out of the first class lounge a few yards away. Band leader Edwin Jarvis had assembled some of his men on Captain's orders, to allay panic. Shostakov's entourage came up to the A-deck foyer. He was carrying the lifebelts, almost as an afterthought. Natasha was like a sleepwalker. 

"It's just the God damned English doing everything by the book." He grumbled. 

"There's no need for language, Mr. Shostakov." Nelly pursed her lips then turned to the maid, "Go back and turn the heater on in my room, so it won't be too cold when we get back." 

Tony Stark entered, looking around the magnificent room, which he knew was doomed. Natasha, standing nearby, saw his heartbroken expression. She walked over to him and Alexei after her. 

"I saw the iceberg, Mr. Stark. And I see it in your eyes. Please tell me the truth." Natasha spoke with easiness but she had a knot forming in her heart. 

Stark didn't turn. "The ship will sink." 

"You're certain?"

"Yes. In an hour or so... all this... will be at the bottom of the Atlantic." 

Now it was Alexei's turn to look stunned. "My God. The Titanic? Sinking?"

"Please tell only who you must, I don't want to be responsible for a panic. And get to a boat quickly. Don't wait. You remember what I told you about the boats?"

Natasha nodded. "Yes, I understand. Thank you."

Then Stark went off, moving among the passengers and urging them to put on their lifebelts and got to the boats. 

They had the boats swing out. There was crowds of uncertain passengers in all states of dress and undress. One first class woman was barefoot. Others were in stockings. The maitre of the restaurant was in top hat and overcoat. Others were still in evening dresses, while some were in bathrobes and kimonos. Women were wearing lifebelts over velvet gowns, then topping it with sble stoles. Some brought jewels, others books, even small dogs. Stark saw Captain Smith walking stiffly toward him and quickly went to him. He yelled into the Captain's ear, through cupped hands, over the roar of the steam... "Hadn't we better get the women and children into the boats, sir?" 

Smith just nodded, a bit abstractly. The fire had gone out of him. Stark saw the awesome truth in Smith's face.

"Right! Start the loading. Women and children!" The appalling din of escaping steam abruptly cut off, leaving a sudden unearthly silence in which Stark's voice echoes. 

Alexei, Natasha and Nelly came out of the doors near the band. 

"My brooch, I left my brooch. I must have it!" Nelly turned back to go to her room but Alexei took her by the arm, refusing to let her go. The firmness of his hold surprised her. 

"Stay here, Nelly." Ruth saw his expression, and knew fear for the first time. 

\-- 

 

Barney and Tommy pushed past the stewards, going the other way. They reached a huge crowd gathered at the bottom of the main 3rd class stairwell. Barney spotted Helga, the Norwegian girl standing patiently with suitcases in hand. He reached her and she grinned, hugging him. Tommy pushed to where he could see what's holding up the group. There was a steel gate across the top of the stairs, with several stewards and seamen on the other side. 

Near Tommy, an Irishwoman stood stoically with two small children and their battered luggage. 

"What are we doing, mummy?" 

"We're just waiting, dear. When they finish putting First Class people in the boats, they'll be startin' with us, and we'll want to be all ready, won't we?"

\--

Inside the Master at Arms' office, Jack sat chained to the waterpipe, next to the porthole. Krushnik sat on the edge of a desk. He put a .45 bullet on the desk and watched it roll across and fall off. He picked up the bullet, tossing it in his hand. 

"You know... I believe this ship may sink." He said indifferently then crossed to Clint. "I've been asked to give you this small token of our appreciation..." He punched Clint hard in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. "Compliments of Mr. Alexei Shostakov." He flipped the handcuff key in the air, caught it and put it in his pocket, exiting and leaving Clint gasping, handcuffed to the pipe.

\--

On the port side, there has been only one sentences spoken by the officers. 

"Women and children only! Sorry sir, no men yet."

Natasha watched the farewells taking place right in front of her as they stepped closer to the boat. Husbands saying goodbye to wives and children. Lovers and friends parted. Nearby, Molly is getting a reluctant woman to board the boat. 

"Come on, you heard the man. Get in the boat, sister."

"Will the lifeboats be seated according to class?" Nelly inquired. "I hope they're not too crowded--"

That was the final straw for Natasha. "Oh, Mother. Shut up!" Nelly froze, her mouth hanging open but Natasha went on. "Don't you understand? The water is freezing and there aren't enough boats... not enough by half. Half the people on this ship are going to die." 

Alexei chimed in innocently. "Not the better half."

That hit her like a thunderbolt.He was right. 

Clint was third class. He didn't stand a chance. Another rocket burst overhead, bathing her face in white light. "You unimaginable bastard." 

"Come on, Nelly, get in the boat. These are the first class seats right up here." Molly ushered Natasha's mother inside then turned to her. 

"Come on, Natasha. You're next, darlin'." But she stepped back, shaking her head. 

"Goodbye, mother." Nelly, standing in the tippy lifeboat, could do nothing. Alexei grabbed Natasha's arm but she pulled free and walked away through the crowd. He caught up to her and grabbed her again, roughly. 

"Where are you going? To him? Is that it? To be a whore to that gutter rat?"

"I'd rather be his whore than your wife."

He clenched his jaw and squeezed her arm viciously, pulling her back toward the lifeboat. Natasha pulled out a hairpin and jabbed him with. He let go with a curse and she ran off into the crowd.

She ran through the clusters of people, breathless from the cold. She looked back and a furious Alexei was coming after her. She ran breathlessly up to two proper looking men. She had to lose her fiancé.  
"That man tried to take advantage of me in the crowd!"

Appalled, they turned to see Alexei running toward them. Natasha ran on as the two men grabbed Alexei, restraining him. She ran through the First Class entrance. He broke free and ran after her. He finally reached the entrance, but was greeted with a knot of people coming out. He pushed rudely through them and ran in, and down to the landing, pushing past the gentlemen and ladies who were filling up the stairs. He scanned the A-deck foyer. His fiancée was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

Back at the Master at Arms' office, Clint pulled on the pipe with all his strength. It wasn't budging. He heard an ominous gurgling sound. Water poured under the door, spreading rapidly across the floor.

"Shit." He tried to pull one hand out of the cuffs, working until the skin was raw... no good. 

"Help!! Somebody!! Can anybody hear me?!" Nothing.  
"This could be bad." He admitted. The corridor outside was deserted. Flooded a couple of inches deep.

Natasha's voice came faintly through the door, but there was no one to hear it. 

At the first class room, Tony Stark was opening stateroom doors, checking that people were out. "Anyone in here?"

Natasha ran up to him, the wind knocked out of her. "Mr. Stark, thank God! Where would the Master at Arms take someone under arrest?!"

He furrowed his brows, "What? You have to get to a boat right away!"

"No! I'll do this with or without your help, sir. But without will take longer."

He paused a beat. "Take the elevator to the very bottom, go left, down the crewman's passage, then make a right."

"Bottom, left, right. I have it." She nodded. 

"Hurry, Natalia."

She ran up as the last Elevator Operator was closing up his lift to leave. "Sorry, miss, lifts are closed--"  
Without thinking she grabbed him and shoved him back into the lift. 

"I'm through with being polite, goddamnit. I may never be polite the rest of my life. Now take me down!" The operator fumbled to close the gate and started the lift. Through the wrought iron door of the elevator car, Natasha could see the decks going past. The lift slowed. Suddenly ice water was swirling around her legs. She screamed in surprise and so did the operator. The car had landed in a foot of freezing water, shocking the hell out of her. She clawed the door open and splashed out, hiking up her floor-length skirt so she could move. The lift went back up, behind her, as she looked around.

"Left, crew passage." She spotted it and slogged down the flooded corridor. The place was understandably deserted. She was on her own. "Right, right... right." She turned into a cross-corridor, splashing down the hall. A row of doors on each side. "Clint? Clint??" 

Clint was hopelessly pulling on the pipe again, straining until he turned red. He collapsed back on the bench, realizing he was screwed. Then he heard her through the door. 

"Natasha! In here!" In the hall, Natasha heard his voice behind her. She spun and ran back, locating the right door, then pushed it open, creating a small wave. She splashed over Clint and put her arms around him. 

"Clint, Clint.. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." They were so happy to see each other it was embarrassing.

"That guy Krushnik put it in my pocket, I swear."  
"I know, I know."  
"See if you can find a key for these. Try those drawers. It's a little brass one." She kissed his face and hugged him again, then started to go through the desk. 

"So... how did you find out I didn't do it?"

"I didn't." She looked at him, "I just realized I already knew." They shared a look, then she went back to ransacking the room, searching drawers and cupboards. She stopped trashing the room, and stood there, breathing hard.

"There's no key in here, Clint." They looked around at the water, now almost two feet deep. Clint had pulled his feet up onto the bench.

"You have to go for help."  
She nodded, "I'll be right back."

Clint sighed, "I'll just..wait here."

She ran out, looking back at him once from the doorway, then splashed away. Natasha ran down the hall to a stairwell going up to the next deck. She climbed the stairs, her long skirt leaving a trail like a giant snail. The weight of it was really slowing her down. She ripped at the buttons and shimmied quickly out of the thing then bounded up the stairs in her stockings and knee-length slip, to find herself in part of the labyrinth of steerage hallways forward. She was alone here. A long groaned of stressing metal echoes along the hall as the ship continued to settle. She ran down the hall, unimpeded now. 

"Hello? Somebody?!" She turned a corner and it was like a bad dream. The hull gonged with terrifying sounds. The lights flickered and went out, leaving utter darkness. A beat. Then they came back on. She found herself hyperventilating. That one moment of blackness was the most terrifying of her life. She turned around, spotting a glass case with a fire-axe in it. She broke the glass with a battered suitcase which was lying discarded nearby, and seized the axe, running back the way she came. At the stairwell, she looked down and gasped. The water had flooded the bottom five steps. She went down and had to crouch to look along the corridor to the room where Clint was trapped. Natasha plunged into the water, which was up to her waist and powered forward, holding the axe above her head in two hands. She grimaces at the pain from the literally freezing water. 

Clint had climbed up on the bench, and was hugging the waterpipe. Natasha waded in, holding the axe above her head. "Will this work?"

"We'll find out." They were both terrified, but trying to keep panic at bay. He positioned the chain connecting the two cuffs, stretching it taut across the steel pipe. The chain was of course very short, and his exposed wrists were on either side of it.

He motioned behind her, "Try a couple practice swings." 

Natasha hefted the axe and thunked it into a wooden cabinet. 

"Now try to hit the same mark again." She swung hard and the blade thunked in four inches from the mark.

"Okay, that's enough practice." He winced, bracing himself as she raised the axe. She had to hit a target about an inch wide with all the force she could muster, with his hands on either side.

He sounded calm. "You can do it, Tasha. Hit it as hard as you can, I trust you." Clint closed his eyes..and so did she. The axe came down. She gingerly opened her eyes and looked. Clint was grinning with two separate cuffs. She dropped the axe, all the strength going out of her. 

"Nice work, there, Paul Bunyan." He climbed down into the water next to her and he couldn't breathe for a second.

"Shit. Okay, excuse my French. Ow ow ow, that is cold! Come on, let's go." They waded out into the hall. Natasha started toward the stairs going up, but Clint stopped her. There was only about a foot of the stairwell opening visible. 

"Too deep. We gotta find another way out." 

Walking towards E-Deck corridors and stairwells, Barney, standing with Helga and her family, heard Clint's voice. Clint called out to him and Barney turned and saw Clint and Natasha pushing through the crowd. He and Clint hugged quickly. 

"The boats are all going." Barney raised his voice over the loud people cheering. 

"We gotta get up there or we're gonna be gargling saltwater. Where's Tommy?" Barney pointed over the heads of the solidly packed crowd to the stairwell. Tommy had his hands on the bars of the steel gate which blocked the head of the stairwell. The crew opened the gate a foot or so and a few women were squeezing through. 

"Women only. No men. No men!!" A steward said. But some terrified men, not understanding English, tried to rush through the gap, forcing the gate open. The crewmen and stewards pushed them back, shoving and punching them.

"Get back! Get back you lot!" He turned to the crewmen. "Lock it!!" They struggled to get the gate closed again, while the steward brandished a small revolver. Another held a fire axe. They locked the gate, an angry cry went up among the crowd, who surged forward, pounding against the steel and shouting in several languages.

Tommy groaned, "For the love of God, man, there are children down here! Let us up, so we can have a chance!" But the crewmen were scared now. They had let the situation get out of hand, and now they had a mob. Tommy gave up and pushed his way back through the crowd, going down the stairs. He rejoined Clint, Natasha and Barney.

"It's hopeless that way." 

"Well, whatever we're goin' to do, we better do it fast." Barney spoke. 

Clint, Natasha, Barney and Tommy were lost, searching for a way out. They pushed past confused passengers... past a mother changing her baby's diaper on top of an upturned steamer trunk... past a woman arguing heatedly with a man in Serbo-Croatian, a wailing child next to them... past a man kneeling to console a woman who was just sitting on the floor, sobbing... and past another man with an English/Arabic dictionary, trying to figure out what the signs mean, while his wife and children waited patiently. They came upon a narrow stairwell and went up two decks before they were stopped by a small group pressed up against a steel gate. The steerage men were yelling at a scared steward.

"Go to the main stairwell, with everyone else." The steward pleaded. "It'll all get sorted out there." Jack took one look at this scene and finally just lost it. 

"God damn it, you son of a bitch." He grabbed one end of a bench bolted to the floor on the landing and started pulling on it, Tommy and Barney pitched in until the bolts sheared and it broke free. Natasha figured out what they were doing and cleared a path up the stairs between the waiting people. 

"Move aside! Quickly, move aside!" Clint and Tommy ran up the steps with the bench and rammed it into the gate with all their strength. It ripped loose from its track and fell outward, narrowly missing the steward. Led by Clint, the crowd surged though. Natasha stepped up to the cowering steward and said in her most imperious tone: "If you have any intention of keeping your pathetic job with the White Star Line, I suggest you escort these good people to the boat deck... now." Class won out. He nodded dumbly and motioned for them to follow. 

\--

At the boat deck, port, Clint, Natasha and the others burst out onto the boat deck from the crew stairs just aft of the third funnel. They looked at the empty davits. 

"The boats are gone!" Natasha bit her lip, turning to see Colonel Gracie chugging forward along the deck, escorting two first class ladies.

"Colonel! Are there any boats left?" 

Gracie stared at her bedraggled state. "Yes, miss... there are still a couple of boats all the way forward. This way, I'll lead you!" Clint grabbed her hand and they sprinted past Gracie, with Tommy and Barney close behind. 

Tommy chuckled as he heard the band playing, "Music to drown by. Now I know I'm in First Class."

\--

Water poured like a spillway over the forward railing on B-Deck.

"Women and children, please. Women and children only. Step back, sir."

Even with Clint's arms wrapped around her, Natasha was shivering in the cold. Near her a woman with two young daughters looked into the eyes of a husband she knew she might never see him again. Clint looked at Tommy and Barney. "You better check out the other side." Tommy nodded but Barney stiffened. He took a deep breath and stepped out, wrapping his arms around his brother. 

"Take care."  
"Always have, punk." Clint grinned, nodding assuringly. 

After a couple of seconds later, he and Tommy ran off, searching for a way around the deckhouse. 

Clint and Natasha then turned to the boats, Natasha only now realizing that the women and children were the only ones permitted to board the boats. 

"I'm not going without you." "Get in the boat, Natasha." 

Alexei walked up just then. "Yes. Get in the boat, /Natasha./"

She was shocked to see him so stepped instinctively to Clint. Alexei looked at her, standing there, shivering in her wet slip and stockings, a shocking display in 1912. 

"My God, look at you." He took off his coat. "Here, put this on." She numbly shrugged into it. He was doing of course it for modesty, not the cold. 

Another steward shouted, "Quickly, ladies. Step into the boat. Hurry, please!"

Clint held her hand. "Go on. I'll get the next one."

"No. Not without you!" She didn't even care that Alexei was standing right there. He saw the emotion between Clint and Natasha and his jaw clenched. But then he leaned close to her, "There are boats on the other side that are allowing men in. Clint and I can get off safely. Both of us."

Clint smiled reassuringly. "I'll be alright. Hurry up so we can get going.. we got our own boat to catch."

"Get in... hurry up, it's almost full." Alexei added. The steward grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the boat. She reached out for Clint and her fingers brushed his for a moment. Then she found herself stepping down into the boat. It was all a rush and blur. 

"Lower away!" The two men watched at the rail as the boat began to descend.

Alexei spoke quietly, "You're a good liar." 

"Almost as good as you."

"I always win, Clint. One way or another." He looked at him with a smile. A shark's smile. "Pity I didn't keep that drawing. It's going to be worth a lot more by morning." 

Clint knew he was screwed. He looked down at Natasha, not wanting to waste a second of his last view of her. The ropes going through the pulleys as the seamen started to lower. All sound going away... Stewards giving orders, their lips moving.. but Natasha heard only the blood pounding in her ears. This couldn't be happening... a rocket burst above in slow motion as she gazed up at him, descending away from him. She saw his hand trembling, the tears at the corner of his eyes and couldn't believe the unbearable pain she was feeling. 

Natasha was still staring up, tears pouring down her face. Suddenly she was moving, lunging across the women next to her. She reached the gunwale, climbing it, and hurled herself out of the boat to the rail of the A-Deck promenade, catching it, and scrambling over the rail. Boat 2 continued down. But Natasha was back on Titanic. 

Clint's face fell. "No no Natasha! No!" He spun from the rail, running for the nearest way down to A-Deck. Shostakov too had seen her jump. She was willing to die for this man, this gutter scum. He was overwhelmed by a rage so all consuming it eclipsed all thought. Clint banged through the doors to the foyer and sprinted down the stairs. He saw her coming into A-deck foyer, running toward him, Alexei's long coat flying out behind her as she ran. They met at the bottom of the stairs, and collided in an embrace.

"Natasha, Tasha, you're so stupid, you're such an idiot--" And all the while he was kissing her and holding her as tight as he could. 

"You jump, I jump, right?" She smiled through the tears.  
"Right." 

Shostakov came in and ran to the railing. Looking down, he saw them locked in their embrace. Krushnik came up behind Alexei and put a restraining hand on him, but Alexei whipped around, grabbing the pistol from Krushnik's waistband in one cobra-fast move. He ran along the rail and down the stairs. As he reached the landing above them he raised the gun. Screaming in rage, he fired. The carved cherub at the foot of the center railing exploded. Clint pulled Natasha toward the stairs going down to the next deck. Alexei fired again, running down the steps toward them. A bullet blew a divet out of the oak panelling behind Clint's head as he pulled Natasha down the next flight of stairs. Shostakov stepped on the skittering head of the cherub statue and went sprawling. The gun clattered across the marble floor. He got up, and reeling drunkenly went over to retrieve it. The bottom of the grand staircase was flooded several feet deep. Clint and Natasha came down the stairs two at a time and ran straight into the water, fording across the room to where the floor sloped up, until they reached dry footing at the entrance to the dining saloon. 

Alexei stood up in time to see Clint and Natasha splashing through the water toward the dining saloon. He fired twice. Big gouts sprayed near them, but he wasn't a great shot. The water boiled up around his feet and he retreated up the stairs a couple of steps. Around him the woodward groaned and creaked. 

"Enjoy your time together!!" He called after them. Krushnik arrived next to to him and Alexei suddenly remembered something and started to laugh.

Krushnik was confused, "What could possible be funny?"

"I put the diamond in my coat pocket. And I put my coat... on her." He turned to Krushnik with a sickly expression, his eyes glittering.

"I give it to you... if you can get it." He handed Krushnik the pistol and went back up the stairs. Krushnik thought about it then slogged into the water. The ice water was up to his waist as he crossed the pool into the dining saloon. 

He moved among the tables and ornate columns, searching... listening... his eyes tracking rapidly. It was a sea of tables, and they could be anywhere. A silver serving tolley rolled downhill, bumping into tables and pillars. He glanced behind him. The water was following him into the room, advancing in a hundred foot wide tide. The reception room was now a roiling lake, and the grand staircase was submerged past the first landing. Monstrous groans echoed through the ship. Clint and Natasha were crouched behind a table, somewhere in the middle. They saw the water advancing toward them, swirling over the floor. They crawled ahead of it to the next row of tables. 

"Stay here." Clint whispered. He moves off as Krushnik moved over one row and looked along the tables. Nothing. The ship groaned and creaked. He moved another row. A metal cart, five feet tall and full of stacks of china dishes started to roll down the aisle between tables. Natasha's eyes widened as the cart rolled toward her. It hit a table and the stack of dishes toppled out, exploding across the floor and showering her. She scrambled out of the way and Krushnik spun, seeing her. He moved rapidly toward her, keeping the gun aimed. That's when Clint tackled him from the side. They slammed together into a table, crashing over it, and toppling to the floor. They landed in the water which was flowing rapidly between the tables. Clint and Krushnik grappled in the icy water and Clint jammed his knee down on Krushnik's hand, breaking his grip on the pistol, and kicked it away. Krushnik scrambled up and lunged at him, but Clint gut punched him right in the solar plexus, doubling him over.

"Compliments of the Chippewa Falls Bartons." He grabbed Krushnik and slammed him into an ornate column. Krushnik dropped to the floor with a splash, stunned. 

"Let's go." Natasha and Clint ran uphill, entering the galley. Behind them the tables had become islands in a lake and the far end of the room was flooded up to the ceiling. Natasha spotted the stairs, started up and Clint grabbed her hand, leading her down. Then they heard it, a crying child. Below them. They went down a few steps to look along the next deck. The corridor was awash, about a foot deep. Standing against the wall, about 50 feet away, was a little boy, about 3. The water swirled around his legs and he was wailing.

"We can't leave him." Natasha shook her head and Clint nodded, agreeing. They left the promise of escape up the stairwell to run to the child. Clint scooped up the kid and they ran back to the stairs but a torrent of water came pouring down the stairs like rapids. In seconds it was too powerful for them to go against. 

"Come on." Charging the other way down the flooding corridor, they blasted up spray with each footstep. At the end of the hall were heavy double doors. As Clint approached them, he saw water spraying through the gap between the doors right up to the ceiling. The doors groaned and started to crack under the tons of pressure. 

"Back. Go back." He ordered, pivoted and ran back the way they came, taking a turn into a cross-corridor. A man was coming the other way. He saw the boy in Clint's arms and cried out, grabbing him away from Clint. He started cursing him in Russian, and ran on with the boy. 

"No! Not that way! Come back!" Natasha spoke in rapid Russian, but the double doors had already burst open. A wall of water thundered into the corridor and the father and child disappeared instantly. Clint and Natasha sprinted out off as a wave blasted around the corner, foaming from floor to ceiling. It gained on them like a locomotive. They made it to a stairway going up. 

Inside the First Class smoke room, Anthony Stark stood in front of the fireplace, staring at the large painting above the mantle. The fire was still going in the fireplace and room was empty except for him. An ashtray fell off the table. Behind him, Natasha and Clint ran into the room, out of breath and soaked. They ran through, toward the aft revolving door then Natasha recognized him. She saw that his lifebelt was, lying on a table. 

"Won't you even make a try for it, Mr. Stark?" She looked devastated and so did he for a tear was rolling down his cheek. 

"I'm sorry that I didn't build you a stronger ship, young Natalia."

Clint had to say speak up. "It's going fast... we've got to keep moving."

Stark picked up his lifebelt and handed it to her. "Good luck to you, Natalia." She hugged him. "And to you, Mr. Stark." Jack pulled her away and they ran through the revolving door. 

They ran out into a dense crowd. Clint pushed his way to the rail and looked at the state of the ship. The bridge was under water and there was chaos on deck. He her put her lifebelt on and watched as people streamed around them, shouting and pushing.

"Okay..." He took a deep breath, inhaling bitterly cold air and it hurt his throat. "We keep moving aft. We have to stay on the ship as long as possible." They pushed their way aft through the panicking crowd. 

Up ahead, Barney was drawn up against the grating of a strokehold vent as water poured through it. The force of tons of water roaring down the ship trapped him against it, and he was dragged down under the surface as the ship sank. He struggled to free himself but couldn't. Suddenly there was a concussion deep in the bowels of the ship as a furnace exploded and a blast of hot air belched out of the ventilator, ejecting Barney. He surfaced in a roar of foam and kept swimming. 

A Niagara of sea water thundered down into the rooms, blasting through the first class opulence. It was the Armageddon of elegance. The flooding was horrific. Walls and doors were splintered like kindling. Water roared down corridors with pile-driver force. The Cartmell family was at the top of a stairwell, jammed against a locked gate like Clint and Natasha were. Water boiled up the stairwell behind them. Bert Cartmell shook the gate futilely, shouting for help. Little Cora wailed as the water boiled up around them all. 

Clint and Natasha clambered over the A-Deck aft rail. Then, using all his strength, he lowered her toward the deck below, holding on with one hand. She dangled, then fell and jumped down behind her. Then they joined a crush of people literally clawing and scrambling over each other to get down the narrow stairs to the well deck, the only way aft. Seeing that the stairs were impossible, Clint climbed over the B-Deck railing and helped Natasha over then dropped down and the two of them pushed through the crowd across the well deck. Near them, at the rail, people were jumping into the water. The ship groaned and shuddered. The man ahead of Clint was walking like a zombie.

"Yeah, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death--" he spoke. 

"You wanna walk a little faster through that valley, fella?" He smirked, but his face changed when he diverted his gaze on the floor. A thin, damp necklace laid unnoticed. Barney's. Clint bent down and picked it up, tears pricking his eyes. 

"Now who's the one who can't take care of himself?" He chuckled quietly, his voice cracking. 

Natasha understood what he felt and she squeezed his shoulder. 

 

\-- 

They struggled to climb the well deck stairs as the ship tilted and the angle increased. Hundreds of passengers, clinging to every fixed object on deck, huddled on their knees around Father Byles who had his voice raised in prayer. They were praying, sobbing, or just staring at nothing, their minds blank with dread. Pulling himself from handhold to handhold, Clint tugged Natasha aft along the deck.

"Come on, Tasha. We can't expect God to do all the work for us." They struggled on, pushing through the praying people. A man lost his footing ahead and slid toward them, Clint helped him. They made it to the stern rail, right at the base of the flagpole and gripped the rail, jammed in between other people. It was the spot where Clint pulled her back onto the ship, just two nights... and a liftime... ago. Above the wailing and sobbing, Father Byles' voice carried, cracking with emotion. 

"..and I saw new heavens and a new earth. The former heavens and the former earth had passed away and the sea was no longer." The lights flickered, threatening to go out. Natasha gripped Clint as the stern rose into a night sky ablaze with stars. 

"..I also saw a new Jerusalem, the holy city coming down out of heaven from God, beautiful as a bride prepared to meet her husband. I heard a loud voice from the throne ring out this is God's dwelling among men. He shall dwell with them and they shall be his people and He shall be their God who is alway with them."

Natasha stared about her at the faces of the doomed. Near them were the Dahl family, clinging together stoically. Helga looked at her briefly, and her eyes were infinitely sad. Natasha saw a young mother next to her, clutching her five year old son, who was crying in terror. "Shhh. Don't cry. It'll be over soon, darling. It'll all be over soon."

The voice of father Byles went on, "He shall wipe every tear from their eyes. And there shall be no more death or mourning, crying out or pain, for the former world has passed away." 

As the ship tilted further, everything not bolted down inside shifted. Cupboards burst open in the pantry showering the floor with tons of china. A piano slid across the floor, crashing into a wall. Furniture tumbled across the Smoking Room floor. On the A-Deck promenade, passengers lost their grip and slid down the wooden deck like a bobsled run, hundreds of feet before they hit the water. Trudy, Natasha's maid, slipped as she struggled along the railing and slid away, screaming. Panicking people leapt from the poop deck rail, fell screaming and hit the water like mortar rounds. A man fell from the poop deck, hitting the bronze hub of the starboard propeller with a sickening smack. The propellers were 150 feet out of the water. Over a thousand passengers clung to the decks, looking from a distance like a swarm of bees. The image was shocking, unbelieveable, unthinkable. 

Then the great liner's lights flickered, the lights went out all over the ship. Titanic became a vast black silhouette against the stars. A loud cracking report came across the water. Near the third funnel, a man clutched the ship's rail. He stared down as the deck split right between his feet. A yawning chasm opened with a thunder of breaking steel. People watched in horror as the ship's structure ripped apart right in front of them. They gaped down into a widening maw, seeing straight down into the bowels of the ship, amid a booming concussion like the sound of artillery. People falling into the widening crevasse looked like dolls. The stay cabled on the funnel part and snapped across the decks like whips, ripping off davits and ventilators. Fires, explosions and sparks lit the yawning chasm as the hull split down through nine decks to the keel. The sea poured into the gaping wound. The stern alf of the ship, almost four hundred feet long, fell back toward the water. On the poop deck everyone screamed as they felt themselves plummeting. The sound went up like the roar of fans at a baseball stadium when a run was scored. Swimming in the water directly under the stern, a few unfortunates shrieked as they saw the keel coming down on them like God's bootheel. The massive stern section fell back almost level, thundering down into the sea and pushing out a mighty wave of displaced water. 

Clint and Natasha struggled to hold onto the stern rail. They felt the ship seemingly right itself. Some of those praying thought it was salvation. 

"We're saved!" Several people said but Clint looked at Natasha and shook his head, grimly. Now the horrible mechanics played out. Pulled down by the awesome weight of the flooded bow, the buoyant stern tilted up rapidly. They felt the rush of ascent as the fantail angled up again. Everyone was clinging to benches, railings, ventilators..anything to keep from sliding as the stern lifted. The stern went up and up, past 45 degrees, then past sixty. People started to fall, sliding and tumbling. They skidded down the deck, screaming and flailing to grab onto somehting. They wrenched other people loose and pulled them down as well. There was a pile-up of bodies at the forward rail. The Dahl family fell one by one. 

Clint held Natasha tighter. "We have to move." He climbed over the stern rail and reached back for her but she was terrified to move so he grabbed her hand. 

"Come on! I've got you!" Clint pulled her over the rail. It was the same place he pulled her over the rail two nights earlier, going the other direction. She got over just as the railing was going horizontal, and the deck vertical. Clint gripped her fiercely. The stern was now straight up in the air... a rumbling black monolith standing against the stars. It hung there like that for a long grace note, its buoyancy stable. Natasha laid on the railing, looking down fifteen stories to the boiling sea at the base of the stern section. People near them, who didn't climb over, hung from the railing, their legs dangling over the long drop. They fell one by one, plummeting down the vertical face of the poop deck. Some bounced horribly off deck benches and ventilators. Clint and Natasha laid side by side on what was the vertical face of the hull, gripping the railing, which was now horizontal. Just beneath their feet were the gold letters TITANIC emblazoned across the stern. 

Natasha stared down terrified at the black ocean waiting below to claim them. Clint looked to his left and saw a man he recognized, crouching on the hull, holding onto the railing. It was a surreal moment. The man greeted them awkwardly, "Helluva night, eh?"

The final relentless plunge begun as the stern section flooded. Looking down a hundred feet to the water, the ship began dropping like an elevator with Clint and Natasha witnessing. 

Clint was now talking fast, "Take a deep breath and hold it right before we go into the water. The ship will suck us down. Kick for the surface and keep kicking. Don't let go of my hand. We're gonna make it, Natasha.. Trust me." She stared at the water coming up at them, and gripped his hand harder. 

"I trust you."

Below them the deck was disappearing. The plunge gathered speed, the boiling surface engulfed the docking bridge and then rushed up the last thirty feet. The stern descended into the boiling sea. The name TITANIC disappeared, and the tiny figures of Clint and Natasha vanished under the water. Where the ship once stood, now there was nothing. Only the black ocean. 

Underwater, bodies were whirled and spun, some limp as dolls, others struggling spasmodically, as the vortex sucked them down and tumbled them. Clint rose, kicking hard for the surface, holding tightly to Natasha, pulling her up. At the surface there was a roiling chaos of screaming, thrashing people. Over a thousand people were floating where the ship went down. Some were stunned, gasping for breath. Others were crying, praying, moaning, shouting..screaming. Clint and Natasha surfaced among them. They barely had time to gasp for air before people were clawing at them, people driven insane by the water, 4 degrees below freezing, a cold so intense it was indistinguishable form death by fire. 

A man pushed Natasha under, trying to climb on top of her, senselessly trying to get out of the water, to climb onto anything. Clint punched him repeatedly, pulling her free. 

"Swim, Natasha. Swim!" He urged and she tried, but her strokes were not as effective as his because of her lifejacket. They broke out of the clot of people. He knew he had to find some kind of flotation, anything to get her out of the freezing water. 

"Keep swimming. Keep moving. Come on, you can do it." He needed to breathe faster. All about them, there was a tremendous wailing, screaming and moaning, a chorus of tormented souls. And beyond that, nothing but black water stretching to the horizon. The sense of isolation and hopelessness was overwhelming.

Clint stroked rhythmically, the effort keeping him from freezing. "Look for something floating. Some debris... wood... anything."

"It's so cold." She whimpered. 

"I know. I know. Help me, here. Look around." His words kept her focused, taking her mind off the wailing around them. Natasha scanned the water, panting, barely able to draw a breath, and saw something in the water. "What's that?"

Clint saw what she was pointing to, and they made for it together. It was a piece of wooden debris, intricately carved. He pushed her up and she slithered onto it, belly down. But when Clint tried to get up onto the thing, it tilted and submerged, almost dumping Natasha off. It was clearly only big enough to support her. He clung to it, close to her, keeping his upper body out of the water as best he could. Their breath floated around them in a cloud as they panted from exertion, floating amid a chorus of the damned. 

Clint saw the ship's officer nearby, blowing his whistle furiously, knowing the sound will carry over the water for miles. 

"The boats will come back for us, 'Tasha. Hold on just a little longer." He managed to get out. "They had to row away for the suction and now they'll be coming back." She nodded, his words helping her. She was shivering uncontrollably, her lips blue and her teeth chattering. "Thank God for you, Clint."

People were still screaming, calling to the lifeboats. "Come back! Please! We know you can hear us." A woman yelled, joined by another man. "For God's sake!"

"Please... help us. Save a life! SAVE ON LIFE!"

Clint and Natasha drifted under the blazing stars. The water was glassy, with only the faintest undulating swell. Natasha could actually see the stars reflecting on the black mirror of the sea. Clint squeezed the water out of her long coat, tucking it in tightly around her legs and rubbed her arms. His face was chalk within the darkness. A low moaning in the darkness echoed around them.

"It's getting quiet." She whispered. 

"Just a few more minutes. It'll take them a while to get the boats organized..." 

Natasha was unmoving, just staring into space. She knew the truth. There wouldn't be any boats. Behind Clint, she saw that Officer had stopped moving. He was slumped in his lifejacket, looking almost asleep. He had died of exposure already.

Clint huffed, "I don't know about you, but I intend to write a strongly worded letter to the White Star Line about all this." And that brought a weak laugh to her face, but it sounded like a gasp of fear. Natasha found his eyes in the dim light.

"I love you, Clint."

He took her hand. "No... don't say your good-byes, Natasha. Don't you give up. Don't do it." 

"I'm so cold."

"You're going to get out of this... you're going to go on and you're going to make babies and watch them grow and you're going to die an old lady, warm in your bed. Not here. Not this night. Do you understand me?"

She sniffed, "I can't feel my body." 

"'Tasha, listen to me. Listen. Winning that ticket was the best thing that ever happened to me." Clint was having trouble getting the breath to speak. "It brought me to you. And I'm thankful, Natasha. I'm thankful." His voice was trembling with the cold which was working his way to his heart, threateningly. But his eyes were unwavering. 

He went on, "You must do me this honor... promise me you will survive... that you will never give up... no matter what happens... no matter how hopeless... promise me now, and never let go of that promise." 

Natasha stared at his eyes, her teeth chattering loudly. 

"Promise me, god damn it!" 

"I promise." She breathed.

"Never let go." He whispered. 

"I promise. I will never let go, Clint. I'll never let go." She gripped his hand and they laid with their heads together. It was quiet now, except for the lapping of the water. 

\--

After what seemed like ages, Clint and Natasha were floating in the black water. The stars reflected in the mill pond surface, and the two of them seemed to be floating in interstellar space. They were absolutely still. Their hands were locked together. Natasha was staring upwards at the canopy of stars wheeling above her. The music was transparent, floating.. as the long sleep stole over Natasha, and she felt peace.

Her face. Pale, like the faces of the dead. She seemed to be floating in a void. She was in a semi-hallucinatory state, knowing she was dying. Her lips barely moved as she sang a scrap of Clint's song: "Come Josephine in my flying machine..." 

The stars. Like you've never seen them. The Milky Way, a glorious band from horizon to horizon. A shooting star flared.. a line of light across the heavens. Her hair was dusted with frost crystals. Her breathing was so shallow, she was almost motionless. Her eyes tracked down from the stars to the water. The silhouette of a boat crossing the stars. She saw men in it, rowing so slowly the oars lifted out of the syrupy water, leaving weightless pearls floating in the air. 

The voices of men sounded slow and distorted. Then the lookout flashed his torch toward her and the light flared across the water, silouetting the bobbing corpses in between. It flicked past her motionless form and moved on. The boat was fifty feet away, and moving past her. The men looked away so Natasha lifted her head to turned to Clint. Her hair had frozen to the wood under her. 

"Clint." Natasha whispered, her voice barely audible. She touched his shoulder with her free hand and he didn't respond. Natasha gently turned his face toward her. It was rimed with frost. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully but he wasn't. She gently turned his face toward her. It was filled with frost. She could only stare at his face as the realization went through her.

"Oh, Clint." She croaked out. All hope, will and spirit left her. Natasha looked at the boat. It was further away now, the voices fainter. She watched them go and closed her eyes. She was so weak, and there just seemed to be no reason to even try. And then.. her eyes snapped open. She raised her head suddenly, cracking the ice as she ripped her hair off the wood. She called out, but her voice was so weak they didn't hear her. The boat was invisible now, the torch light a star impossibly far away. She struggled to draw breath, calling again. In the boat, no one heard anything behind them. 

Natasha struggled to move. Her hand, she realized, was actually frozen to Clint's. She breathed on it, melting the ice a little, and gently unclasped their hands, breaking away a thin tinkling film. She leaned and put her lips against his head but regretted as soon as she did so because his body's Ice cold temperature made her wince. 

"I won't let go. I promise." She released him and he sunk into the black water. He seemed to fade out like a spirit returning to some immaterial plane. Natasha rolled off the floating staircase and plunged into the icy water. She swam to Chief Officer Wilde's body and grabbed his whistle. She started to blow the whistle with all the strength in her body. Its sound slapped across the still water. In the boat, the officer whipped around at the sound of the whistle. He turned the tiller, "Row back! That way! Pull!" Natasha kept blowing as the boat came to her. 

She was still blowing when the officer took the whistle from her mouth as they hauled her into the boat. She slipped into unconsciousness and they scrambled to cover her with blankets..


	5. Chapter 5

Fifteen hundred people went into the sea when Titanic sank from under. There were twenty boats floating nearby and only one came back. One. Six were saved from the water, Natasha included. Six out of fifteen hundred. Afterward, the seven hundred people in the boats had nothing to do but wait... wait to die, wait to live, wait for an absolution which would never come.

On the boat, she was laying down, sort of paralyzed. Her face was white as the moon. The man next to her jumped up, pointing and yelling. Soon everyone was looking and shouting excitedly. In Natasha's point of view, it was all silent. The officer lit a green flare and waved it as everyone shouted and cheered. Natasha didn't react. She floated beyond all human emotion. Golden light washed across the white boats, which gloated in a calm sea reflecting the rosy sky. All around them, like a flotilla of sailing ships, were icebergs. 

Natasha watching, rocked by the sea, her face blank as seamen helping survivors up the rope ladder to the Carpathia's, another ship for the survivors, gangway doors... two women crying and hugging each other inside the ship... There was just music, so gentle and sad, part elegy, part hymn, part aching song of love lost forever. Natasha, outside of time, outside of herself, coming into Carpathia, barely able to stand... Natasha being draped wtih warm blankets and given hot tea... 

\--

April 15, 1912

It was the afternoon of the 15th. Alexei was searching the faces of the widows lining the deck, looking for his fiancée. The deck of Carpathia was crammed with huddled people, and even the recovered lifeboats of Titanic. On a hatch cover sat an enormous pile of lifebelts. He kept walking toward the stern. Seeing Alexei's tuxedo, a steward approached him. "You won't find any of your people back here, sir. It's all steerage." 

He ignored him and went amongst this wrecked group, looking under shawls and blankets at one bleak face after another. Natasha was sipping hot tea. Her eyes focused on him as he approached her, him barely recognizing her. She looked like a refugee, her matted hair hanging in her eyes.

"Yes, I lived. How awkward for you."

"Natalia... your mother and I have been looking for you--" She held up her hand, stopping him. 

"Please don't. Don't talk. Just listen. We will make a deal, since that is something you understand. From this moment you do not exist for me, nor I for you. You shall not see me again. And you will not attempt to find me. In return I will keep my silence. Your actions last night need never come to light, and you will get to keep the honor you have carefully purchased." She fixed him with a glare as cold and hard as the ice which changed their lives. "Is this in any way unclear?"

After a long beat, he responded. "What do I tell your mother?" 

"Tell her that her daughter died with the Titanic." She stood up, turning to the rail. Dismissing him. Alexei was stricken with emotion.

"You're precious to me, Natalia."  
"Jewels are precious. Goodbye, Mr. Shostakov." After a moment, he turned and walked away. 

That was the last time she ever saw him. He married, of course, and inherited his millions. The crash of '28 hit his interests hard, and he put a pistol in his mouth that year. His children fought over the scraps of his estate like hyenas, or so she'd read. 

At the railing of the Carpathia, 9 pm April 18th. She gazed up at the Statue of Liberty, looking just as it does today, welcoming her home with her glowing torch. Over 30,000 people lined the dock and filled the surrounding streets. The magnesium flashed of the photographers went off like small bombs, lighting an amazing tableau. Several hundred police kept the mob back. The dock was packed with friends and reletives, officials, ambulances, and the press, reporters and photographers swarmed everywhere. They jostled to get close to the survivors, tugging on them as they passed and shouting over each other to ask them questions. Natasha was covered with a whoollen shawl and walking with a group of steerage passengers. Immigration officers were asking them questions as they came off the gangway.

"Name?" An immigration officer asked Natasha and she didn't hesitate to answer. 

"Barton. Natasha Barton." The officer then steered her toward a holding area for processing. 

\--

Natasha Barton's eyes twinkled, eighty-four years later, when her granddaughter asked her why she had lied about her name.

"Can you exchange one life for another?" She said. "A caterpillar turns into a butterfly. If a mindless insect can do it, why couldn't I? Was it any more unimaginable than the sinking of the Titanic?"

Her granddaughter titled her head, "And there was nothing found on Clint? There was no record of him at all?" 

"No, there wouldn't be, would there? And I've never spoken of him until now, not to anyone. Not even your grandfather. A woman's heart is a deep ocean of secrets. But now you all know there was a man named Clint Barton, and that he saved me, in every way that a person can be saved." She closed his eyes. "I don't even have a picture of him. He exists now only in my memory." 

That night, Natasha looked across her shelf of carefully arranged pictures: Natasha as a young ballet dancer in California, radiant... a theatrically lit studio publicity shot... Natasha and her husband, with their two children... Natasha with her son at his college graduation... Natasha with her children and grandchildren at her 70th birthday. A collage of images of a life lived well. One got her to chuckle, a photograph back 1920. She was at the beach, sitting on a horse at the surfline. The Santa Monica pier, with its rollercoaster was behind her. She saw grinning, full of life. 

Natasha laid comfortably, warm in her bed. She was very still. She could be sleeping, or maybe something else..

However, when she closed her eyes, the echoing sound of distant waltz music was heard. She emerged onto the grand staircase, lit by glowing chandelier. The music was vibrant now, and the room was populated by men in tie and tails, women in gowns. It was exquisitely beautiful. She swept down the staircase, the crowd of beautiful gentlmen and ladies turned as she descend toward them. At the bottom, a man stood with his back to her and when he finally turned, it was Clint. Smiling. he held his hand out toward her. Natasha went into his arms, a girl of 17. The passengers, officers and crew of the RMS Titanic smiled and applauded in the utter silence of the abyss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I died :)


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